Finding Fire
by COWSARECOOL
Summary: Iggie doesn't remember anything from her childhood. She doesn't know anything about her heritage or where she came from, she just knows that she's always been a bit...different. But then her life is turned upside down by Sauron and Gandalf and Middle-Earth and...and she's suddenly learning things about herself she'd rather have stayed unlearned...up for adoption!
1. Prologue: Finding a Dragon

A/N: Dear readers, this is a very short prologue, so i decided to add in this little bit of explanation to you all so as to let you get a better feel of where this story will be going.

Ok, so basically I wanted to make a 'girl falls into ME' story but I didn't want it to be the usual sarcastic but totally useless girl. Not that those arent good too. :) But, I thought it would be interesting if I changed things up a little and made a fic with a girl who's definitely not 'from the good end of the neighborhood.' As in, she kinda...well she's a bit of a delinquent. However, this story is not at all about the LOTR's story. THIS IS SET BEFORE LOTR, BUT WILL CONTINUE ON AND BECOME A 10TH WALKER FIC EVENTUALLY! Although, I may make that the sequel, depending on how long this one turns out to be.

However, this will mostly be about her story, and how she goes from being a...bad person, to growing up and finding her place in ME. And during this she will, of course, fight against falling to the influence that Sauron has over her due to her heritage, and the urges that all dragons have for blood-lust, shiny things and eating helpless people/animals...lol just kidding!...maybe...

Also, I have the ending planned out for this fic! I'm so proud of myself! :) this has never happened before! I have also written several chapters ahead, and the documents are waiting in the upload cargo section, so really all i am waiting for is your lovely reviews. Because i can't upload my next chapter without at least _some_ reviews to this story... :( so please review!

The Year 2941 Third Age

The dawn was just starting to spread in hues of gold over the Lonely Mountain, and on the precipice of this mountain-near its secret entrence that had recently become very popular-two men stood. Or rather, neither were men, but were instead one a dwarf and, the other, an aging Istari.

The newly appointed king Dáin I, and the respected and wise Gandalf the Grey, stood watching something very peculiar on this precipice, especially for being upon a mountain that had, just a few months ago, housed the last great dragon...Smaug the Golden. Though the lonely mountain had long ago been swept of its treasures—and divided accordingly, despite the humble Bilbo's protests—upon one last sweep…the King under the Mountain had found one remaining treasure. And an odd treasure it was at that.

Immediately upon its discovery, his men had reported their finding to their king Dáin with trepidation and bewilderment. They had no idea how such a thing had come to bring itself to the lonely mountain, and though they speculated wildly, they came up with no presentable idea to give their king on why such a thing would be in the dragon's horde. Fitted in gold and lace and jewels of the most precious kind, it far outshone all other treasures, making them seem trinkets in comparison. It was obvious that this was Smaugs most _precious_ treasure.

The king and his men did not dare touch it more than necessary, both from fear of the repercussions, and from wonder of it's origins. How did it get there? Was it dangerous? Surely such a thing could not harm them; it was so…innocent.

But no, no chances were to be taken. Not until console could be held with one who Dáin knew would be sure of what was to be done. The wizard, Gandalf the grey.

So now, here they stood, far from any wandering soul or peeping ear, just a king, his confident and an odd treasure.

"In the mountain you say?" Gandalf hummed lowly around his pipe. "I tell the truth when I say I had not believed the words in your summons, Dáin of Erebor. But now with my own eyes…this is troubling indeed."

"It is what we had suspected it to be, Gandalf?"

Gandalf peered at him from under the brim of his wide hat, eyes alight with slight amusement. "She, my friend. _She_, is exactly what you expected."

A slight step backwards caused a gruff chuckle from the old grey pilgrim. "There is no need to feel afraid, my friend. She is but a child." He gave a sigh then as he turned back to the morose girl, eyes frowning with some unspoken problem that needed solving. "For now at least..."

"Yes. Yes, I know that. However, you must understand my trepidation; what with the happenings of the last year. Even just standing upon his cliff still sends my shoulders stiff and my hand to my axe."

He turned back to him with a grim smile. "Of course. However, what worries me now is not a battle ready dwarf, but what that battle ready dwarf _king_ will do with her at present. She was discovered upon his land after all…"

Dáin gave the wizard a surprised look, but stroked his beard thoughtfully, mulling over the words of one much wiser than him. He should not act quickly on this decision. He looked towards the quiet child, looking at her solemn profile not with pity or understanding but with speculation and an inquisitive eye for even a hint of Smaugs bloodlust. He could not keep her here, and he voiced this to the listening wizard. It would only cause strife among his people and give cause for questioning his leadership. Above all, his people needed a strong leader they could trust to protect them, especially with the newly rebuilt bonds with the humans. They would need to feel secure in their knowledge that they had a strong king that could keep things in _order._

However, on the other hand…she _was _just a child. She wouldn't be safe out there in the world with no one to protect her. She seemed dead to the world, confused and disoriented, if her complete acquiesce to his men as they brought her to him was anything to go by. He looked to the old wizard.

"She needs a caretaker. She is but a child—despite the fact that it is not her true form—and I cannot find it within myself to order a child to her death. To do so would mean I have lost all sense of honor, and my people deserve a king who is confident that his honor is intact. A dwarf cannot lead without that."

He nodded sagely, pulling his pipe away from his mouth, "You would suggest I take her?"

"…Yes. Perhaps you could prevent her from falling to the same treacherous deeds her father felled upon Middle Earth."

Gandalf mulled this over. A child? She could not stay here; that was sure. And in the state she was in, he could not just idly drop her off someplace with the lesser dragons. And even then, the unsophisticated, wingless, speechless dragons would do her no good. They would attack her if she showed any weakness; as those mindless cold-drakes were prone to do. They had not the intelligence of their ancestors and were but mindless reptiles, worms, compared to the mightiness of Smaug. There is also the problem he knew to be brewing in the south, that of the rise of Sauron once again. He knew that his spy's were spreading their treachery even now as he spoke with his old friend.

A She-drake, born of the last great dragon…she would be greatly sought after by the necromancer. He feared the repercussions of such a powerful thing falling into hands such as that.

But she was just a child as of now, and it is known that dragons mature slowly, if he remembered correctly. It was the reason they were not as valuable in battle, at first, as Melkor had anticipated upon his creation of them. It gave him hope that the dark lord would not turn his eye north for a time, just until he could come up with a better solution.

Finally, after his lengthy deliberation, Gandalf agreed. Dáin was grateful to him, another crisis averted out of the many he was facing as newly appointed king. He invited his guest to feast with them, but Gandalf declined politely, motioning to his newly appointed ward with a sweeping hand. "I do not believe I should tarry much longer. I must find a place for this one. Someplace safe and far from the burning eye that will no doubt haunt her."

Dáin questioned him half-heartedly on the subject, but finding the old man was not to be persuaded he sent him off heartily. He was fond of his old friend, but too long in his presence brought too many questions and too few answers; and he didn't need any more questions as of now.

He hoped that Gandalf would find his solution.

...

* * *

...

And he would. In exactly one year, as his young wards nightmares of an 'eye ringed in fire' grew worse and more frequent, he would find his answers. After much consultation on the matter with Radagast, his 'cousin,' he decided it would be the path he would take.

He found it surprisingly hard to let the little sprite go. He'd grown quite fond of her. However, he could feel Sauron growing closer to them, his influence creeping closer in on her. He knew he needed to send her off, growing especially frantic in his preparations near the last month of the year 2942 as her dreams spread to her waking hours as well and sapped her of all energy. She was but a shell of what she was.

He had found it though. Her safe haven, free of Sauron's influence—he hoped—where she would live out her life in boring mediocrity. It was his great wish for her. But he knew that precautions had to be made, as she was not a normal child, and she most likely never would be. So he placed his hand over her heart, whispered softly, and gave her cheek a soft pat. He would know, if she truly called out for him, he would know. That was all he could do for her now.

He hoped it would be enough.

And with that he sent her off with no memories of her time here in Middle Earth, to a world separate from theirs. Different gods, different laws…different evils.

Hopefully their evils would be less than the evils of Middle Earth.

* * *

And all done! Please R and R! It would make me exceedingly happy to see even one review on this story!


	2. Finding Darkness

A/N: Hello readers! This chapter will be a much less formal writing style than the prologue; mostly because the prologue was from Gandalf's pov so it would have had to be formal in order to be believable. This chapter is a bit long, true, but its needed in order for you to get a sense of what brought her here as well as who she is; which is definitely Smaugs daughter, not some little girl who will change the world with her kindness and win everybody over with love. blegh.

though she will win them over, just not in the usual fanfiction way.

Warning! The main character in my story will swear A LOT! There will be A LOT OF SWEARING!

Did I say it loud enough? I just want to make sure everyone knows that before they read so they're not all 'I'm goin to report you for foul language! Blah blah blah…' ok? So besides that…if you don't like strong female leads that walk the thin line between evil and good; you won't like this story. She is definitely not the usual girl that falls into ME, as you shall see. (I hope anyways. i've never read a fic with someone like Iggie, so i'm assuming that she's different.) She is not naïve or unaccustomed to violence, and doesn't really have the greatest morals…she also has a tendency to have her mind taken over by Sauron—oops! Did I say that? O.o She's not the bad guy I promise!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of Tolkien's work! All I own is Iggie, my pet dragon slave!

OOoOoOoOoOoOo

She could barely remember how this all happened…but that was normal. It happened quite a lot with her—a byproduct of faulty caretakers and a severe problem with handling her temper. But she knew one thing for sure…

_She was innocent._

There was no way she would just suddenly 'forget' that she'd taken a contract to kill someone. No, she was sure she was innocent.

Yes, it was true she had a _temper_—as that sniveling little pork-pie of a lawyer just _loved _to point out—but she had never, _never_, killed anyone. Wanted too? Yes. Fantasized? Yes. But never actually done—she had more control than that, as well as more morals and more brains. She had _rules _that she followed. Can you guess the most important of the rules? The one at the very top? Yup, that's right; it said DON'T KILL PEOPLE, AND THEN LEAVE YOUR PRINTS AND WITNESSES BEHIND!

And besides, if she was to kill someone—which she wouldn't—she would do a much better job at covering it up. She wasn't stupid; she'd been in courts and juvie and watched enough CSI reruns to know that you didn't leave your fingerprints at the scene!

She wasn't stupid…but then neither was he—that _asshole_ who had betrayed her, set her up, left her to die…He was smart though, to pick her. She was an easy target, and the system had been trying their hardest to put her behind bars since she turned 18 a year ago.

She knew the odds of how this would turn out as soon as she was arrested, but that didn't mean she had to _like it! _And that didn't mean she wouldn't fight tooth and nail to change it either!

Everything about this week was a blur to her. A myriad of faces jumbled in her mind, all jeering at her with malice and that look that says _'I know what you did last summer…'_ Which they did. Because last summer she was still in Juvie, and that record was in her file. In bold, black letters.

…There was a lot of bold, black letters in her file.

But—she didn't kill anyone. Never. _He did. _She didn't.

But she could never tell them.

'_You won't say anything.._._I know you too well._' _He smirked, 'Above all else you'll protect your own. And I think you know _exactly_ who I'll go after first too...'_

_He laughed wildly, 'Besides…who would believe a trouble making drop out like you, against me, a successful college student?_

_From behind the vault door she let out a stream of vicious curses against him, most involving his brutal and drawn out demise at her hands._

'_Oh, yes,' That oh, so infuriating laughter. How she wished to strangle that sound out of him! '…so beautiful when you're angry, I've always wanted that look directed at me!'_

She suddenly wished she was in this court not for the deaths of the MaKennie family, but for the decapitation of her betrayer—one George Marsh.

_Bastard!_

Red seeped into her vision, but she barely noticed it. She'd grown accustomed to it over the past week; so often, and strong, was her anger. Her face was blank as she listened to the adamant prosecutor ramble on about her various flaws and past…discrepancies. It only fueled her anger. And when _he _appeared, _as a witness_, well…let's just say that the only thing keeping him alive were the chains securing her hands and legs to the bolted down chair. Her swearing was also muffled, having been 'masked'—_like a dog_—after she'd bitten one of the other inmates arm bloody. Which made no sense, considering that she'd only bitten her in self-defense; the crazy Latino lady had come at her with a _shiv_ for heaven's sake!

That _man, _if he could be called that, adjusted his jacket as he took his seat; eyeing her with—what she knew to be false, fake, mocking—fear. But, he had every right to mock her. She had fallen, she had lost her strong hold, and he had won the war in one fell swoop before she was even aware of its existence.

Now he should be a good boy and let her beat the crap out of him for it. Perhaps make sure he would never pass on his unfortunate ability to trick her onto any new generations, or even cut off that traitorous tongue so he could no longer spew those horrid riddles that had so mesmerized her. Oh how she wished he'd come _closer._

So she could rip that bloody tongue out of his mouth!

"George Marsh, you said you were in the MaKennie Jewelers' store at the time of the robbery?"

"Yes, sir. Saw the whole thing sir."

"Can you tell the jury what you saw again, Mr. Marsh?"

"I was picking out a ring, to propose. It was a beauty, for my girlfriend, Laura MaKennie—" Oh, Yes, and he just had to have that in his favor too didn't he? It had been her suggestion to use her to get the vault codes in the first place! "And then, I saw…_her_…come in."

"According to the report you filed, the store was closed at the time; is that correct Mr. Marsh?"

"Yes, sir. It was going to be a surprise for—"At this he choked up a little, and Iggie ground her teeth. He cleared his throat then, "Excuse me."

"That's quite alright Mr. Marsh. Please continue."

She could practically hear the collective 'aaw' the jury was no doubt sighing in their mind. They were eating his spiel up, word for lying fucking word!

"It was going to be a surprise and, considering she works full time at the shop…I didn't want her to know what was going on. So, Mr. MaKennie was going to ring me up after hours."

"So he was there with you?"

"Yes. So was his wife." He smiled sadly, "I asked for her help to pick it out—a woman's judgment is best you know?"

"And what happened next, Mr. Walsh."

"She…she came in, just after we closed. I don't think she expected us to be there. We were back by the vault, where only Mr. MaKennie's best were located. Mr. MaKennie…he didn't see her until it was too late."

"What happened to Mrs. MaKennie, Mr. Marsh."

"She…she tried to make a run for it. She made it to the lobby before she…" He swallowed thickly. "Before she was gunned down."

"By this time, the call was made to the police. We have the records of this call, your honor, at 8:14 Sunday night, March 13th. Made from the cell phone of Mr. Marsh's girlfriend, Laura. Why was she there if this meeting was secret Mr. Marsh?"

That villain didn't falter, or even blink before he answered, "I don't know sir, we…we'd been having problems at the time, and when I told her I was going out with some friends but wouldn't let her join…I think she thought I was having an affair. I'd been secretive lately, but only because I didn't want her to find out about the ring!"

Technically he _had _been having an affair. They'd been together that way for nearly a year now…how had she missed this side to him? How had she not known he was playing her? All his secretive riddles and vague goings-on, it had appealed to her so much, interested her so much that she had missed what was truly under that sly smile of his completely. She felt a fool.

He would regret making her feel like this. Just as she regretted letting him in…

"Mr. Marsh, how exactly did you get out of this seemingly hopeless situation, when no one else did?"

"When she went to attack me, I pushed her. Into the vault. Then I bypassed the security lock and changed the pass code. She was stuck in there, until the cops came."

Yes, and all the while she listened to his taunts and his laughter and felt anger and despair so strong she literally puked all over the 2,000 dollar necklace that was in there…that necklace would never shine the same way ever again.

"Thank you Mr. Marsh, that'll be all."

George Marsh looked over briefly at her, and in that one passing glance she saw every word he wished he could say to her in that court room. Every self-satisfied smirk, every malicious laugh, every dark painful jab at her uselessness, at her inability to do _anything_ to stop him...she saw all of it there, in that one glance he gave her, and felt something snap in her mind.

He left the courtroom a confident, but dead, man. He just didn't know it yet, and neither did she.

Iggie felt despair rise up in her as he left, but it didn't outweigh her rage. She gave him no tears—as she had promised long ago, to a barely remembered face, that she would never cry again. She would be strong—and so she felt it all boiling up inside her as she had never felt before. She'd never been so _angry._ No angry wasn't a strong enough word; she felt _murderous rage_, the likes of which she imagined only Bruce Banner felt after a tanning session in Gamma rays. Except she wasn't green—she was red as a cherry airhead, so red that even her mottled freckles looked scorched. A bead of sweat dripped down into the band of that awful contraption they'd put around her mouth.

The rest of the hearing went on in a haze of vehement words and angry, pointing fingers. A buzz sounded in her ears, her eyes clouded over. She clenched her hands around the cold chain binding her and trapping her and keeping her from _mauling_ everyone in this room…she would reflect later that it really would have been better if they hadn't chained her, gagged her and kept her in that awful _cage_ for weeks before the hearing. It really hadn't been in their best interests…

"We have reached a Verdict."

The words flew in through her daze of confusion, disbelief and rage. She looked up slowly, and found the judge was looking straight at her, not at her crazed eyes, but at the trail of blood sliding out from the mouth-mask they'd put on her. Her sharp canines had pierced through her lip, and she hadn't even noticed; she still didn't. she felt nothing except an overwhelming trepidation as she waited with bated breath for his decision.

"Ignacia Hughes will receive a life sentence. Death penalty pending." The ring of his gavel droned on in her ears long after it had stopped echoing throughout the silent court room.

She was _innocent!_ This wasn't _right!_

She breathed heavily, staring sightlessly down at the veneer of the dark wooden desk before her, but as a splash of her blood hit its counter her light brown eyes focused wholly on it.

The words of the judge repeated in her mind, echoing. _Life sentence…Death penalty…_

She wouldn't do it! She couldn't allow this! She would not let that _bastard_ kill her, she would not die by the hand—even inadvertently—of someone so _below_ her. Someone with no honor, no sense of loyalty…how could she be killed by someone like that?

_He was scum upon this earth. And scum could not kill her!_

A hand grabbed her elbow, tugging her roughly, but she didn't move. Another drop hit the counter. _Splat, splat…_those drops sparkled oddly, shimmering around the edges. Her labored breathing grew as she resisted the efforts of the guards to lift her, but she knew it was a useless endeavor. She was stronger than them, but she couldn't hold out forever. For once there was no way out. She had finally been backed into a corner in which she couldn't climb out off. She was trapped…

She felt her chest collapse under her grief. _Life sentence…Death penalty_… over and over again in her mind. She was going to die. She knew she wouldn't survive in prison. It was too small, too confined, and even her many brief stints in _jail _had nearly killed her. She wasn't meant to be caged, she couldn't handle it. She would kill _herself _before they took her. There was no way she'd allow herself to just lie down in a cell and await her eventual death. If anything, she would die honorably, fighting for her freedom…but even that thought gave her no comfort.

Tears fell and joined the droplets of blood, and she gave no thought to her promise so many years ago to that faceless man, as the despair nearly crushing her. She was lost to everything else except watching those perfect circular droplets merge together…and then watching those beads in sudden horror as a pupil, black and endless, opened in the center of then. The roaring in her ears grew in time with the despair she felt, increasing with each thought of her impending sentence.

"Get her out of here! The hearing is over!"

She didn't hear them...

_Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul… _

"I—I can't! I can't move her even an inch!"

She heard nothing except the burning, strange words in her head...

_Ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul. _

"She's—she's burning up…Wh—what the hell? What is this—?"

_Gurb ghnash…bolg kûlkodar…latob gurb ashdurbûk! (1)_

That voice, in her head…it terrified her. Those black words laced with such command and darkness and intense possession of her…it sent her most basic instincts to _flee_ into overdrive. But despite having always had unnaturally good survival instincts…it wasn't enough to outweigh the power that voice had over her. Her red vision blinked out as she shut her eyes, struggling to control herself; to keep _something _from releasing. She wasn't sure what, but it wouldn't be good.

In the darkness of her vision, a bright iris screamed into existence, blanking out everything else as that contracting pupil swallowed her waning strength. She struggled to maintain control, and the murmurs of the people in the courthouse didn't reach her ears. All she heard was that horrible screeching voice, booming through her to her very soul, taking her breath and forcing her hands to clench until they bled. She felt nothing of the tugging on her, and knew nothing of the confusion of the men who were twice her size but couldn't move her, despite avid pulling.

_Matatug Tak!_

_Kill Them!_

Suddenly, she saw his face in her mind. That George Marsh.

She saw his sadistic, satisfied grin as he pushed her into the vault. Felt the betrayal all over again as she listened from within to his taunting. Felt her rage and sorrow boil in her throat again as she watched him act out his little play for the judge and jury, lying, lying, _lying!_

Her control snapped! She could take no more, and so she grabbed fist-full's of her chin length choppy hair, staining it red with her tainted blood. A gargle erupted from her throat as she threw herself from her chair, her back arching upwards as she hunched in on herself. She felt something tearing through her skin, rupturing from her back and spreading out from her shoulders. The people backed away, the guards ordering the evacuation of the jury. They responded hurriedly, in a panic, and Ignacia—no not Ignacia anymore, it was that _voice_—felt actual pleasure at their fear. A scream erupted from her, high and rasping and inhuman. Her body was on fire. Whatever she'd tried to fight was no longer caged within her, and it was becoming increasingly hard to keep herself apart from it; whatever it was. All that was left of Iggie in this uncontrollable beast of rage-this beast who's strings Sauron was pulling-was a tiny voice calling, calling out for someone…someone she didn't remember but knew to be real, knew to be her last hope. She needed him, that Grey Man.

The low ceiling of the courthouse crashed down on her—no..._She'd _crashed into _it._ Another roar called out from her throat, no longer her own but of something larger, an ancient sound that struck those around her as prehistoric in nature. The screams of the people below her, so tiny now, fed her desperate anger and confusion and she could not fight the influence of the Black voice in her mind. She picked out one face from the crowd...a once sly face filled only with overwhelming _terror. George Marsh._

_Matatug Tak!_

With a long sweep of her neck, she acted on instinct—once so prized by her, but now so terrifying—and opened up her jaws in a wide display of razor teeth intent on snapping the backs of their target. However, ungainly as she was in this new unfamiliar form, she missed and came crashing down into the building beside him. One giant, golden eye slid over the rubble, looking for her victim. She found him there, under a great metal beam, eyes blank and sightless as blood pooled around him. She gave a cry, long and terrible, but she wasn't sure if it was one of terror, despair or satisfaction.

With a swing of her head, golden eyes focused on the hordes of people running accross the ruined street. She learched for them, ready to snap down on them as she had failed to do with George Marsh. With a _clack!_ she bit down on nothing, and the relieved citizens ran screaming for safety, crying in desperate fear and confusion. It was not every day you enter a court room and exit fearing you would get eaten...

A predators eyes swung to what had prevented her attempted kill, and met with the blinding light of a staff that seemed so familiar. She lurched for the light, the words _Matatug Tak! _repeating over and over in her mind, washing away all thought and rationale.

"Cease this mindlessness! Remember who you are!"

Who? Who was she?

"Fight! Fight this moment or forever be prisoner to him!"

_I…fight…but, so…hot. I have to…have to…_

_Matatug Tak!_

_NO! No I won't do this! My rules…I have rules!_

A memory came back to her, bearing the voice that hid behind that shining light, it said, "There are always rules, little one...no matter where you go. And some rules, should _never_ be broken..."

"_**To Kill the innocent, is to bring death upon ones self."**_

It was the basic principle she'd followed her whole life. A barely remembered dream, but so ingrained in her subconscious that it was never truly forgotten.

_What am I…doing? I was…I was going to…I killed-_

A great wail came forth, and all the pent up anger, and fear, came rushing forth from her mouth—now long and snout like and filled with ivory pointed teeth. She lowered her head, feeling out of place in whatever this form she had unleashed was. A long white neck arched down, but she felt uncoordinated in her own skin ending up crushing the wall of a small house with her hurried decent. She gave a whine, an almost grumble as she moved, bringing more destruction in her wake; although unintentionally. Eventually she just stopped moving, laying her head down in defeat and repeating the Grey Wizards words over the, now whispered, Black Speech in the back of her mind.

"To Kill the innocent, is to bring death upon yourself." She tried to speak, but all that came out was a dull bleet that resounded across the now deserted and destroyed street. Her eyes closed in pain and terror at the happenings around her, when a hand, a gentle hand, sweeping over her snout in comforting groves forced her to open them once again.

Before her, the light pierced the dark, but she didn't need it to see the aging face before her. It looked so familiar, so kind and warm and inviting; as was that stroking hand so small in contrast to her now large head. She felt safe.

"Be still...We shall be home soon…"

_Home? Just what exactly is that?_

She wasn't sure what anything was anymore. She fell asleep in the midst of rubble and destruction all around her, but felt nothing but the warm caress of the Grey Man's soft hand.

Maybe that was home?

OOoOoOoOoOoOo

_1.__(One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them…)_

___(One ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them.)_

_(My fire…my blood thirsty dragon…you belong to me, the one ruler!)_


	3. Finding Company

A/N: Hello readers! This chapter will be a bit text heavy! But it's not as long as the previous chapter, so I hope to keep you reading it! Also, GUEST STAR!

Oh, and Rhosgobels is located between the old road and the forest gate on the edges of Mirkwood for those who didn't know.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of Tolkien's work! All I own is Iggie, my pet dragon slave!

OOoOoOoOoOoOo

It had been nine years since that day on the lonely mountain. Eight since he'd sent her away.

He wasn't sure anymore if he'd made the right decision then, considering how he found himself now. He'd wanted safety for her, a life away from the dark times ahead of them…but it seems that, even worlds away, it was not far enough to be without Saurons grasp. He tightened his hold around her shoulders and under her knees as he moved slowly towards the wagon he'd come to travel with lately. Not overly large, and pulled by only one horse, he kept the small thing full of items of trade and necessity only.

Near the front sat a long worn bench, spanning the width of the wagon for which Gandalf sat and guided his reliable companion as he pulled his load to wherever the Grey Pilgrim chose to wander. He set her down lengthwise, parallel to the bench on which he would sit, so he could glance over his shoulder when needed to be sure of her safety. It was a warm day and with a tunic and some leggings, one might be comfortable but…well, her true form and subsequent return to her more 'human' likeness had left no clothing left on her, having ripped off at every seam when she had been forced into a sudden and unfortunate change in that odd other-world.

He slipped an old robe around her, covering her for modesty's sake as well as her own health and comfort. After propping her head up with a rolled blanket, he pulled a few boxes closer to her so she would not roll with the turn and bounce of the wagon and fall off into the rather rocky path. With her situated as best he could situate her, Gandalf rounded the wagon and took his place at the rein. He took off at a brisk pace, eager to put distance between them and the Fortress of Dol Guldur just south of them a dozen miles.

Her cry for him from the other-world came as a surprise, and not at the best of times nor locations. Having been searching fervently for any information on the dark goings-on of Mordor—anything to confirm his suspicions of the inevitable return of that great evil, Sauron—he'd been traveling near the edges of Greenwood, towards the tower of Dol Guldur. If there was any worse place to bring his young ward—now when she is still very vulnerable to Saurons influence—he know not of any such place besides Mordor itself.

He gave a long suffering sigh at his precarious situation, worried about a great many things that had no foreseeable solutions to him. However, he would head to the residence of one he could trust to give him counsel and shelter in this time of need. He would go to Rhosgobels, to his cousin, the home of Radagast the brown. For now that was as good a harbor as he would find, here on the edges of Mirkwood. But despite the safety of his friends home calling to him, he still felt a great sense of foreboding at their closeness to the dark fortress Sauron once held.

It would take several days to reach even the safety of the Old Forest road, and at least one more to reach Rhosgobels. He had a weeks' worth of long days and short nights ahead of him, and already his weary eyes and bones protested. He was pretty spry for an old man, but even he did not look towards bumpy, makeshift paths with much love.

OOoOoOoOoOoOo

Two days already had passed, and still she slumbered. It didn't worry the Wizard, however, as it was he who had goaded her into slumber, and he let her continue on peacefully in her dreams unperturbed. He knew this to be the only sleep she would get free of the nightmares of Saurons all-seeing eye, slumber this peaceful would be greatly sought after in the days following her awakening. He wished, in fact, that she would slumber longer, lest she awaken too close to the influence of Sauron and be caught within his grasp once again. She had barely slipped from it once before, and this soon after such an incident would leave her even weaker to his Black Tongue. It was his hope she would stay sleeping until the Old Forest road was within sight—another long day away—but he knew that he had no control over her consciousness.

She would wake when she was ready to face the world ahead of her, so greatly different than the world she had known.

They rumbled on. She dreamed as he hoped and worried, she slept peacefully, he fretfully and very little. He forced water—often mixed with mashed peas, corn or potatoes—carefully into her mouth, rubbing her throat so she'd swallow. Mentally she would not recognize her bodies need for water and food-so deep in her world of dreams where no sense of time, pain or thirst could touch her-but physically she would waste away, once her body could no longer sustain itself. It was why such a spell was not used more regularly, and when it was, it was with great caution; and only if there would be help readily available to her in the days following the casting. But she had needed it, and he did not regret his use of it to send her mind to sleep for a while. She may not have stopped otherwise.

He knew the spell to not last more than four days, and he could not risk casting it on her once more lest she be caught forever in the lure of peaceful sleep. He would have to hasten his journey, and then perhaps he might make it to the Old Forest road before nightfall of the morrow. He already could feel the dark presence of Dol Guldur fading from his senses, and he hoped that this distance was enough to keep his eye away from them for just a bit longer.

He needed to head north, to somewhere His eye rarely touched. The Shire. He would go to the Shire after his sojourn with Radagast, and perhaps there she could find the peace and tranquility of mind needed to keep His influence at bay. And in time she would learn to block him all together. Or that was his hope anyways.

He realized now that his decision to send her to that unknown world hadn't been his wisest. He'd been running away, and hadn't realized it. He should've stood, and taught her how to keep her mind from his touch, instead of searching for a way to send her away where she would have no one to teach her of her heritage nor how to control some of the…instincts that heritage had passed down to her.

But then…he would never be sure if having kept her in Middle Earth would've done anything at all. He was still unsure of how she would react to him, and though she had been quite a kind and bright child, he was worried about the inherent qualities that she, as the daughter of Smaug, had grown into. His greatest fear was that he'd been wrong about her all those years ago. That the light he'd seen in her childish eyes would eventually be snuffed out by the qualities all dragons seemed to have, that her heritage would consume every good thing he had seen in her year as his ward.

She had brought him hope then, but now he was uncertain. He had seen the rage in her eyes that day when he'd sent her off, a blinding rage that worried him. The same rage he'd seen in her eyes as she had destroyed that town in the other-world .

He knew his sudden worries were not unfounded but, looking at the sleeping face of his wagon companion, he hoped not for the first time that he was wrong.

OOoOoOoOoOoOo

On the third day of his travel from Dol Guldur, Gandalf met the mouth of the forest of Mirkwood that parted its thick trees only to allow the Old Forest road to pass through it. It was later than he'd hoped to arrive here, and he knew that now in the dark the road was at its most dangerous. However, it would make good camp, as no people had traveled its length in many years. At most there may be an elf of Mirkwood scouting its borders, but even that was doubtful. They had made their own road farther north near the marshes, just south of the lake of Esgaroth.

Tethering his faithful horse down for the night, Gandalf moved a few supplies in the back of the wagon and placed two large and heavy rocks behind the wheels to ensure a safe sleep undisturbed by a sudden tottering roll down the hill. He rounded the wagon again, and laid down parallel to his companion on the bench just outside the protection of the curved heavy skin of the wagon cover. He pulled his hat down slightly, so it rested over his eyes and forhead, and tipped his head to his chest, hands deep in the arms of his robes to keep warm and staff settled in the crook of his elbow resting upon his shoulder. He fell to a wary and light sleep...and a steady snore.

It was exactly this snore that brought the attention of two scouts of Mirkwood closer to the abandoned road. The two light footed elves perched in the gnarled branches of the ancient trees their forest was infamous for, and in the dark the glow of the elves was less subtle then in the day, but the dark clothing did much to disguise this. All was silent except the sinister sounds of the hooting owl in the distance and the slow warble of a toad from the watery ditch beside the road. One elf drew closer to the snore that had brought them here, peering down to see the pointed top of a dark hat, and the shine of the moonlight on a worn twisted staff beside it. His suspicions of who it was grew stronger and, hoping down, he approached silently on light feet to the wizard's hat.

Giving his companion a grin, and receiving an indulgent smile and roll of the eyes in return, he reached out and _plucked!_ the hat from the grey head of his unsuspecting victim—and said at once in his ear, "Hello Old Gandalf!"

Immediately the old wizard started, and brought his staff around wickedly—which the elf ducked effortlessly with a loud amused laugh—and called out, "Who goes—!"

Immediately Gandalf recognized the sly face that grinned down at him, and let out a disgruntled sigh of both releif and annoyance.

"My, your reflexes are slowing _mellon_," He laughed at the put-out look on the wizards face as he recognized him, "I remember your staff being much harder to avoid when I was younger!"

He huffed as he took back his hat with a swift swipe, giving up his repose upon the wagons bench to join the elf. "Then I was used to such tricks by you, and always had my staff readied to whack you upside the head should you try an offense upon this poor old man. Though most would not look so proud to have received such attention as a child, and certainly wouldn't strive to recreate such behavior!"

"Gandalf," He brought a hand up to clasp his shoulder with a grin, "You know as well as I do that such whacks would never be enough to stop my mischief!"

Gandalf gave a chuckle finally, returning the clasp with his own and looking fondly at the dark eyes of the elf, "It is good to see you again, Legolas."

"And you as well, Mithrandir."

Legolas' companion landed gently on the forest floor, joining them by the wagon. He was grimmer than his prince, but gave the Istari a welcome smile. "What brings one such as you to Greenwood, Gandalf the Grey?"

"Ah! Yes, I was about to ask just that thing. I have not seen hair nor hide of you for nearly a dozen years! Not since that whole nonsense with those dwarves and the Hobbit—what was his name? Billo? Bilba?"

"I believe you mean Bilbo."

"Exactly! That's the name!"

"And I am just passing through, on my way to Rhosgobels to visit an old friend."

"I see…you must have been traveling for some days by the look at you!" Gandalf gave the elf a slight put upon look for the teasing remark, "Have you enough provisions to make the journey? We carry plenty enough for our travel home, perhaps we could offer our help?"

His companion looked at Legolas a little sideways but said nothing. Gandalf shook his head, refusing the help, and the companion relaxed slightly. It was obvious to him, though not to the prince, that the elf was eager to return to his home.

"Very well." Legoloas acquiesced, but then, "Though I think were a bit to far out to make it to the next camp outpost before dawn. Shall we just camp here with you?" His companion slumped a little at that...

Gandalf gave a weary look towards Iggie, still asleep in the back of the wagon. He wasn't sure what would happen when she awoke, and feared confronting her with others around—it would make it more difficult to calm her if surrounded by a species she had thought were only in fairy tales…however, Legolas did always have a way of making the weary feel at ease. Perhaps his presence would do some good here if she woke, which she would between now and morning at most. She'd been asleep far longer than he'd thought his spell would last, and by now it was only a deep sleep rather than a spelled one.

Gandalf nodded his agreement, knowing they saw his look to the wagon and prepared himself to answer their questions, "There isn't enough room in my wagon I'm afraid, we'll have to make camp by the road."

Knowing that any magic would garner unwanted attention, Gandalf began gathering wood for fire and grabbed his flint stones from the pack beside Iggie. He saw Legolas peer curiously into the wagon, tall enough that he had no need to peer at all but merely look down.

"A boy?"

He stifled a chuckle, "A Woman actually."

"What? Surely not, her hair is shorn so short!"

"It is surely so, Legolas. I would advise you to check for yourself but she may wake up and clobber you for it, mid-inspection!"

The prince's face flamed red briefly, giving the old man a shocked look. "Gandalf!"

The old wizard smiled at his victory as he set up a small fire, low enough not to be seen from a distance but enough to keep them warm and give the area a warm glow. He thought briefly that it was the same color as the Prince's face, and chuckled.

It wasn't often that Gandalf got the elf to be quiet.

OOoOoOoOoOoOo

A/N: Fellow readers! Good evening, morning or night! (whenever you are reading this!) Thank you for your supportive reviews of which I KNOW you will give me more XD. Remember! I love this story so I won't stop writing it, but your reviews are what keep me posting it! Thank you, announcement over. XD

Also, please tell me if my character is a Mary-Sue. I honestly can't tell, as I am writing it so find it hard to look at it objectively. I won't change my story if it is a Mary-sue, I'd just like to know. :) thnx!


	4. Finding Fireworks

A/N: Thank you for all that reviewed! And as for the question on the romance...it will eventually be a legomance. I know...overdone and all that. But I really want to attempt to make it different! But of course Aragorn will come in there eventually, but for now I'm not telling when, how or what he has to do with Iggie. :3 hehe...

Also; Thank you to my new beta reader **harvincy**!

* * *

The dawn was fast approaching their small camp, but, despite the lightening sky, the shadow of Mirkwood darkened the land before them. An old man woke slowly beneath that shadow as his unlikely companion stirred the fires embers into flame again. He had not thought to meet anyone on this path, especially not the lighthearted son of Thranduil, but, now that he had, he was grateful. The last time they had happened upon each other he hadn't exactly had the time to become re-acquainted, and he found he had missed the antics of the young prince. Just the night before, they had set up camp beside the road and his wagon, and told of stories and adventures they had encountered since last they had talked; one of which being the whole story of Bilbo Baggins and the thirteen dwarves that had traveled with him. Legolas had pitied the poor hobbit who had taken on such a long journey in the company of dwarves of all companions and wished his father had given him a warmer welcome. Gandalf had tried to assure him that Bilbo had quite enjoyed his time with the dwarves—fighting and trolls and dragons aside—but Legolas had only looked at him with such disbelief that Gandalf laughed and gave up.

Now, as he roused himself wearily from the first good rest he'd had for several days, he watched Legolas' companion walk from the woods with two cottontails and begin to prepare them for a roast. They were both relatively small and starved looking, but it was the best they would get on the edges of a forest like Mirkwood. Not much good survived in there anymore, so large and dark was the shadow creeping in on it.

"Awake at last, I see."

"Yes, I believe the past days have finally caught up to me." He laughed, "Though perhaps I should say rather that my _years_ have finally caught up to me."

"Then why not settle a place in Eriador? I know how fond you must be of it, to travel there so often."

He gave a sigh and rubbed at his knees. "I may be old, but my heart still longs for the wandering road… and there is still too much to be done for me to settle myself in one place."

The rabbits began to cook over the small fire and their smell was heavenly to Gandalf, who'd been traveling and surviving on potatoes, mushrooms, and, of course, stale bread. Sometimes even he did not know why he longed for the open road so much, especially considering the pathetic menu choices.

Legolas 'hmmed' and took a lingering glance towards the covered wagon just up the way by the road. "Am I right in assuming that your reluctance has something to do with your boyish companion?"

"Boyish!" Gandalf nearly choked on his newly lit pipe, but recovered quickly to give his elven companion a reproachful look. "I have never known you to be so callous with your words, Legolas…"

He had the decency to look a little guilty under Gandalf's baleful gaze and bowed his head to him, "Forgive me, it seems I've been insensitive… I'll be more careful with my words."

"Good, good. Besides…" Gandalf looked up through bushy brows at Legolas, that strange wicked twinkle coming into them, "…I believe that man-like is a much more accurate word."

Legolas' lips quirked and he hid a snort with a well-placed cough. Elves do not snort. It is…un-elf like.

His other companion—who's name Gandalf had leaned was Suidan—bowed his head as he interrupted them, coming to sit beside Legolas and Gandalf with hot, charred rabbit. The elf thanked him and bit into the crunchy, unseasoned meat…Yum.

"Something wrong Gandalf? Do you not like burnt, stringy rabbit?" he asked, seeing Gandalf stop as he went to pick up a piece. Gandalf huffed a little, and then glanced up at the brightening sky and towards the girl they had been just moments ago speaking of.

"I should take watch on her. She will be waking to an unfamiliar place and it would be best if she were not to wake alone."

"Then I shall check on her for you! You have not had a proper meal for who knows how long; stay, eat and enjoy the quiet of the morning while you can."

"Oh? Why, are you planning to take me up on my advice? Go in there and see for yourself that she is indeed a woman?"

Though he was clearly joking, Legolas stiffened, "I would never dishonor a woman like that… even one whose hair is shorn short enough to look like a man's."

Gandalf laughed a bit, but, seeing Legolas still waiting for his reply, he gave the idea a bit of thought. The elf did seem to put people at ease even at the worst of times, but the girl was undeniably unpredictable. It had been years since he had known her and he had no idea how much, or how little, she had changed in that time. He had no way of knowing how dangerous she was, how unstable, nor how she would react to waking up to someone like Legolas… or himself for that matter. But then… she may _not_ wake up yet, and, at the moment… he was a very hungry old man. Finally, he nodded towards the elf and gave his thanks for taking watch over her.

He thought, W_hat harm could it do?_

As it turns out… a lot. It could do _a lot _of harm.

Xxx

As Legolas made his way towards the covered wagon, he wondered on why Gandalf had taken a companion such as her at all. He had only taken a quick glance into the wagon at her sleeping visage, but even that was enough to know she—or he, as the elf had first thought—was very young, and very… strange? He wasn't sure of a word to describe the girl, but there was a feeling about her that made him uneasy. A sort of taint on her that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It felt as it did when he was about to walk into a lair of giant spiders, or when he was nearing a horde of orcs camped up in the depths of Mirkwood.

It was not a pleasant feeling. Did Gandalf not feel it, or did he choose to ignore it? Perhaps the feeling was the very reason he brought her along with him…

He jumped deftly and silently into the wagon, letting the flaps of the caravan top sway closed behind him. It was a small wagon with barely enough room for a half-way crouch, which made it harder to meander through the various boxes. One in particular caught his eye—the one directly in front of the woman he had been sent to watch over, as it would happen—and he smiled as he thought on the stories the Grey wizard had told him about his visits to the Shire and all the Hobbits that inhabited it. And, of course, the fireworks he brought.

The way Gandalf told it, to hobbits, fireworks were only second to food.

He pushed the lid of the box aside, peering inside briefly to see the 'Poppers.' He grabbed a handful with an indulgent smirk, thinking of Gandalf sitting outside, unsuspecting as he ate that horrid, burnt excuse for a rabbit, completely unaware and vulnerable to an attack…

He laughed a bit, but shook his head and dropped them back in; he was getting a little too old for such things wasn't he? He wasn't so young anymore… he had learnt long ago to put such things behind him. Especially with the growing unrest in Middle-Earth. Even Elladan and Elrohir had quieted their mischief as of late. But Gandalf seemed to just bring that side out of him; a rare feat these days. It reminded him of younger, better days when Mirkwood had been called by a different, lighter, name… Greenwood the Great.

He reached for the lid, which he'd set down beside the sleeping girl, intent on closing the box that was bringing about old longings and memories. So immersed was he in his own thoughts that he didn't notice when an errant nail sticking from the wooden top caught and tugged on cloth… until he heard the rip… until it was too late.

Until he looked down and found himself staring at the naked chest of the sleeping woman.

Naked. Chest. A naked, and decidedly _woman, _chest.

_Oh, dear Valar, Look away!_

But it seemed the Valar was not on his side that day, for as soon as the thought flitted into his mind, the woman's eyes snapped open… and shot directly up to his.

Xxx

She'd been having such a good sleep… it was warm, and she'd felt so happy there in that golden place. She hadn't had such a good dream in… ever, really. She resisted the pull of the outside world unconsciously, trying more than anything to stay in the beautiful golden place with its mirrors and its pools and its absolute feeling of _safety._

She didn't want to leave, but she was pulled away regardless, into a different kind of place where the light seemed faded and dim, but hurt her waking eyes anyway. Her limbs felt stiff and achy and she rolled her bare shoulders as she focused upwards on the man who had hastily looked away from her seemingly in a panic.

Wait… bare shoulders? And who the hell was—

She looked down. And then she screamed.

"What the FU—!" She hastily pulled the loose robe—that had seemingly fallen open—tight around her chest. She only gave a moments thought to where the ugly thing had come from before focusing on the fact that she was NAKED under it.

"Please, my lady, I mean no offense!"

"No OFFENSE?!"

"I—I did not mean to see—"

"Oh, really? You didn't mean to? So, you just meant to UNDRESS me, that's all?!"

"No! I mean, the lid—the lid it…it must've caught on your robe and pulled it open; I had nothing to do with—"

"Ugh! You expect me to actually believe that? You—you—!" She hastily looked around for something, anything to throw at the man, and found it in the half open box in front of her. She grabbed a handful of the small round things and proceeded to throw them viciously at his retreating back.

"Get out, get out, get the hell OUT!"

And so, with firecracking Poppers snapping and popping at his back, Legolas got the hell out.

Xxx

As Legolas disappeared from out of the wagon, looking shell-shocked as he sat down by Gandalf, Iggie had huddled herself as far back from the wagon opening as possible.

She picked up a wooden lid to a box—the very one that had started this whole mess—placing it in front of her as a shield as she tried to figure out just what the HELL was going on. Who was that odd man? Why was she in a wagon? Who even OWNED a wagon these days?

_Oh god… have I been abducted by some psycho, religious branch of Amish people or something?!_

She took a better look around realizing that, though the opening on the other side of the wagon was covered by some canvas looking flaps, the opening behind her was open and streaming the beginnings of morning down on her. She peeked over her shoulder, out into the wilderness beyond it, and felt a rush of blood make her dizzy. So many _trees_. So much _green._ She had never seen so much… country before. She'd lived in the city for as long as she could remember and the closest she'd come to the forest was taking a stroll past the drunk and homeless people in the park. And even then there was always the roar of the city, of cars—NOT wagons—and buses and people selling cheap, often stolen, wares on the side of the street. There was always that comforting feeling that if she walked far enough she would eventually reach civilization again.

Here… she stared and listened and pinched her cheeks raw, but… she could tell she wasn't in the park.

She had to clamp down on her nerves and close her eyes a moment to stop herself from hyperventilating. _Oh dear GOD, don't freak out, don't freak out… must get a weapon or—or something!_

She searched hastily for anything that looked vaguely weapon-like, but found nothing but fireworks, potatoes, some kind of tobacco, and camp equipment. She heard voices getting nearer to her again, so she grabbed another handful of snapper poppers or whatever they were called.

A shadow fell over the flaps, but the figure was different from the one of the tall graceful figure of the man from earlier. She kept her thoughts firmly away from thinking too much on that figure, because if she was honest with herself… she'd have to admit that the crazy guy was pretty damn hot—in that medieval long hair and tunic way, anyway. If she was playing some fantasy RPG, or watching "Robin Hood," and he was in it… well, she'd be eying those tight shoulders and those long legs and that nice firm butt—ehem! But, no, this was the real world, and she certainly couldn't start thinking that her crazy cosplaying captor was _hot—_or else she'd have to admit to herself that she'd finally lost her marbles for _real _this time.

The parting of the canvas broke her from her thoughts and she held the Poppers tightly in her hand, though she was careful not to hold too tightly lest they break open in her grip. It happened not to matter, however, for as soon as this new visitor stepped through the door way she found her grip so lax that she dropped the snapper poppers all around her. A few cracked and spit little sparks at her, but she felt none of it. Her eyes were glued to the strangely familiar man in front of her… an old man, gray and travel worn and so _familiar_.

He ducked his head at the low cover of canvas and approached her slowly as if he were nearing an untamed wild creature. He had no desire to be pummeled with Poppers as Legolas had… though it was quite funny to see the expression of disbelief and shock on his face as he'd bound from the wagon.

Stopping before her, he sat down and set his staff across his aching knees. She eyed it with more interest than weariness, though he could tell she was a little more than frightened by everything, despite her efforts to make it seem otherwise. He gave her a long look, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked softly.

"No…" She gave a pained look, "Wait, yes—I mean, no, maybe—Ah!"

He looked thoughtful as she clutched her head. "My apologies…"

She looked a bit confused at that, her head still pounding, and then said haltingly, "Are you sorry you kidnapped me, then?"

"I did not kidnap you… but the pain I believe is my fault."

The ache receding, she gave him a look as if to say _how can my sudden migraine be your fault?_ But she did not question him. He was obviously delusional, all familiarity aside.

"…Where am I, then? Where have you taken me?"

"You are in Middle-Earth."

"Uh… do you mean the Middle-East? 'Cus if that's where we are, I'm really going to have to request some better clothes. Something tells me that they won't appreciate an American woman walking around all naked under her robe…"

Gandalf laughed, "I do not know of this 'Middle-East' of which you speak, but I'm sorry for the clothes. They are the only ones I had available to me at the time."

She eyed him with dawning horror. "So… you're the one who…?"

"I am the one who dressed you, yes. Though I certainly didn't _undress_ you, as you so accused Legolas of doing…"

She only briefly acknowledged the weirdness of the name 'Legolas' (but then, who was she to speak? People called her _Iggie _for Christ's sake…) before she was slowly reaching for the fireworks again—before he firmly grabbed her wrist to keep her away from it, of course.

She pulled away from him hurriedly with wide eyes, and he only sighed. "Do you not remember anything? Anything at all as to how you came here?"

She stopped at that. And now that he mentioned it… she really couldn't remember how she got there. She'd just assumed they'd drugged her or something, but… she couldn't remember what she'd been doing at all really….

"Try to remember…"

Brief images flitted through her mind: the jewelry store, George… it was the day before they were to break in. George had finally gotten the plan put into motion and then… and then she was in the vault and…

He'd betrayed her.

She moaned and gripped her head, turning away from the old man. She couldn't remember anything beyond that, and every time she thought on it a sharp pain bit through her skull. A hand smoothed over her temples, old and weathered but comforting none-the-less, easing the ache in her head… this time she didn't think to pull away.

She looked up at him, "I remember being in the court room… but you… who _are_ you?"

He took his hand away from her. "You… would know me as Gandalf. Gandalf the Grey."

The name didn't sound familiar to her… not even a little. But his face, his very presence seemed as if she had known it before… like she'd seen him in some long forgotten dream… but it hadn't been a dream had it?

She pushed those thoughts away, trying to fall back on the 'kidnapper' theory to rationalize this. But that was beginning to sound weak even to her ears.

All she could think of was what had happened in that courtroom…and the dread that filled her when she tried to remember it. Fear settled in the pit of her stomach and an Eye—wreathed in fire—appeared suddenly in her mind. She shook and tried to look away from it, but it was still there, in the back of her mind calling to her. It was just a piece of the scattered puzzle that had become her memory of that day, but even that little piece frightened her more than anything else…

She wondered if she even wanted to remember it.


End file.
